A Choice
by Fleur du Feu
Summary: Christine made her choice at the end of the story, but soon she begins to wonder, did she make the right choice? E/C  chapter 2 added!
1. Prologue

**Hello! I've written fanfiction before but this is the first time I've ever deemed it worthy to be published, so any feedback would be great so I can know if I'm doing ok, and if not, how to become a better writer. **

**EDIT: I am going to continue this story, however my muse appears to be taking a vacation. As soon as I have insperation I'll update.**

**By the way, because my name is NOT Webber, or Leroux, or Kay, guess what I own nothing! (Honestly do you think if I owned Erik I'd actually _share?)_**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

A Choice

He was inside her mind. His blazing eyes glared at her and she melted under their hypnotizing gaze. They were haunted, those golden eyes, full of so much emotion, so much _pain._ And love.

"_Christine I love you."_

She heard him say it over and over again. Those words. His hypnotic honey-smooth voice breaking with tears saying four little words.

"_Christine I love you."_

Those words were driving her mad. His voice, his music, his eyes, his dreadful face contorted with unbearable sadness; he was everywhere. Every time she looked at her face in the mirror she saw his instead. Every time someone addressed her she thought she heard his voice. He lurked in every corner, hid in every shadow. When a floorboard creaked it was him. When a door slammed it was him. The swishing of fabric when the maid drew the curtains was his cloak. When the wind howled in the night she heard him cry;

"_Christine I love you."_

She tried not to think of him, tried to forget, but it was no use. Busy as she was with preparations he still sang songs in her head. Yesterday she picked out the flowers. She hadn't wanted too because flowers were too full of memories but she had no choice, this sort of occasion must have flowers. She chose daisies, people frowned; daisies were simple, daisies were poor and common- not at all appropriate. She should have chosen roses they said. Roses were romantic, classic, expensive, the appropriate choice. Everyone was angry that she didn't agree, didn't listen, but she could not have roses. Not on that day, not ever. Roses reminded her of _him._

"_Christine I love you."_

She thought of him all day. At breakfast she heard his voice. In the drawing room she saw him. His presence stalked her thoughts all throughout the corridors of the mansion, he was in her mind and she could not escape. At supper she sat in the grand dining room, and feasted on extravagant delicacies that she could not taste for thought of a different taste. The taste of him when she had…No! she could not think of such things, not here at this fine supper table with this fine, caring man- who was talking to her. But whatever was said in conversation during that meal fell upon unhearing ears. How could she concentrate on mundane conversation with an angel singing in her mind. _But he's not an angel, not mon ange, he was just a man. Shouldn't I listen to the man talking to me right now? _But she couldn't. For months she had been distracted but now it was beyond that. It was as though he had invaded her mind and no matter how much she wanted to think about her impending future her thought invariably returned to her past.

"_Christine I love you."_

She was lying in bed wide awake. The darkness was lonely and quiet. _All alone in the dark, ironic isn't it? I made my choice but I'm in the dark anyway._ She shivered and pulled the fine silk sheets tighter around her petite frame. She could almost feel his gloved hands caressing her.

"_Christine I love you."_

She couldn't stop the tears now; she'd held them in so long. Why did she have to remember, why wouldn't he leave her mind! She made her choice, and it was a good choice, the right choice. So why did she still hear his music in her head? Why did she see him whenever she closed her eyes? She could feel his arms around her as she lay alone in the dark. The tears came down harder. Why couldn't she find peace! Why could she not simply forget and go to sleep! She made the right choice and she was happy! She was happy. She was happy and tomorrow she would wed Raoul, the man she loved. She was happy.

"_Christine I love you."_

Tomorrow by this time she would be Mme. De Chagney. She should smile at the thought shouldn't she? So why was she still crying, why did she still hear him? She made her choice, she loved Raoul and he loved her, everything was going just how it was supposed to.

"_Christine I love you."_

Something was wrong. She loved Raoul right? She should be thrilled to marry him right? So why did she feel so, so, so… _so heartbroken._ Why did she hear _HIM!?_

"_Christine I love you."_

Right then she made her choice. She threw off the covers and grabbed her cloak. She pulled on her stockings and shoes, and still in her night gown, ran out of her room and down the stairs into the stables. She quickly saddled one of her fiancees fine horse and mounted, ridding off at a canter. She clattered to a a stop at the gates of the de Chagney mansion, and she had to dismount and unlock them. Quickly she clambered back into the saddle. She urged the horse forward, but as she passed through the gates she stopped and looked behind at the sprawling mansion one last time. With a sigh she shrugged and kept on going. _Sorry Raoul, I do love you but..._

"_Christine I love you."_

There was really only one choice to make, only one right thing to do. In truth there had never been any other choice. This bridge had been crossed long before she was even aware there _was _a choice to be made. Christine Daae made her choice, without another backward glance she took off at a gallop toward the center of Paris, toward the hulking ruins of the opera house.


	2. Lost

**AN**

WOW It's been a_ Long time since my last update, Sorry about that, life is busy and I was having serious writers block._

**Thank you to all my kind reviewers**

Moonlight Dutchess ( My muse came back!) erikismyangelofmusic, Fan of the Phantom, (I'm glad you like how I wrote Christine's grief) romilly grace, ARoseForErik, 13Bridges of Water, sevviephantom, megumisakura, Rawrbeans, jamiepaige19, (salivating? Really? I'm flattered), angelwings263, and temarigirl116

**Thanks also to everyone who favorite or alerted!**

**And without further ado, here's chapter one!**

Christine was beginning to regret her hasty decision. Not the decision to leave, that, she knew was the right choice. It was she mused, the only good decision she had made as of late.

"Yes", she muttered under her breath, "but even my smart choices appear to be incredibly stupid! What was I thinking, leaving like that on a whim! I should have planned, prepared, thought ahead - I should have at least changed out of my nightgown for goodness sakes!"

It was still late summer, but the nights were beginning to take on an autumn chill. Christine shivered and pulled her riding cloak more tightly about her shoulders, wishing for the umpteenth time that she'd had the common sense to put on clothes before setting out.

It had been several hours since she left the De Chagney mansion, by now Christine was in the middle of Paris, and her mare's hooves made sharp clattering noises as they struck the hard cobblestones. Having lived there for half her life Christine had expected to find her way to the opera house with ease, and so she was at a loss upon realizing that riding in a cab through the bustling sunlit streets of Paris was quite different from wandering through the streets alone at night. To her horror, Christine found herself completely and utterly lost. She had absolutely no idea where she was, or even if she was heads in the right direction. All of the narrow winding alley ways seemed the same, and none of them led her to the opera.

In fact Christine was beginning to very much doubt whether she was anywhere near her destination at all. The Opéra Garnier was located in a very high-end part of the city, and judging by the decrepit buildings that hulked on either side of the narrow alley, and the foul odor emanating from the gutter, this was not one of the better parts of town - which of course did nothing to reassure Christine.

Glancing nervously about her, Christine turned left, onto what turned out to be yet another dark deserted ally. She continued riding, but no matter which way she went Christine always seemed to wind up on some derelict trash-strewn street._ How will I ever find the Opera House?_ But thinking of the Opera House only lead to thoughts of her angel.

Though she knew that thinking about him was counterproductive, and would only hinder her attempts to locate him in the first place, Christine found that she was a slave to her own mind. She could not help but think of him, her Angel, her wonderful Angel and his silken voice. His voice had such power it was still difficult to believe that a mere mortal could possibly sing so magnificently. But he was a mortal, a man not an angel or a phantom.

But these thoughts only brought to mind the painful image of her angel's anguished face as he told Raoul to take her away. To see him laid so low, weeping as he once again professed his love, and all the while telling her to leave cut Christine to the core. His pain had been tangible, almost a physical force that she had felt while she left with Raoul. _I floated away with someone else while I listened to the man who loved me more than any other crumble to pieces from heartache. He loved me and I left._

_I loved him and I left._

Christine knew that her actions were inexcusable but she hoped that somehow he could forgive her. He had to forgive her; somehow she had to make him understand that she had been frightened and in a moment of panic had made a stupid choice, a weak choice. But that was not her true choice. Her heart chose him. Somehow she had to tell him that she loved him, and make him believe her.

Christine let her mind wander back to his voice, his sensual voice with its rich smooth timbre. The recollection of his music brought goose bumps to her arms and she hugged herself against a sudden chill._ His voice has the power to make me feel so strange so_-

"Well looky here boys? Aint she a pretty thing. Awful late ter be wandrin' round town by yerself in't it mam'mselle?"

Startled from her reverie, Christine looked up, and gasped. She had wandered into a dead end ally, the only exit of which was now blocked by the most ragged bunch of boys she had ever seen. The one addressing her so rudely appeared to be the leader. It was hard to tell under all his grime but Christine thought he might be about her age. The rest ranged in age from the cusp of manhood down to one little urchin who couldn't have been more than five or six. Their youth was not however particularly reassuring. Several of the older boys carried knives, and they all had a mean, hungry expression that made her stomach churn. What have I gotten myself into?

"So, Mam'selle what brings you to my turf eh? And in yer night things too…"

Christine blushed furiously, and hoped it did not show in the darkness of the night. She clutched her cloak more tightly about herself, tying to conceal her figure in the thin cotton of her night shift.

"Please, um… Monsieur, I am simply passing through. I was looking for the Opéra Garnier but I seem to have gotten turned around in the dark, if you just tell me the correct direction, I'll be on my way…" Christine trailed off uncertainly, she very much doubted this gang was going to tip their hats and give her directions.

The greasy youth sneered at her, revealing broken yellow teeth, "No one passes through Pierre's turf wit' out payin' a toll. So, Cherie, what price do you think is fair eh?" He raked his eyes up and down her body in a way that made Christine's hair stand on end; she drew her cloak even tighter about her shoulders, and regretted yet again that in her haste she had forgotten to change into suitable clothing.

A skinny freaked boy in the back shouted out "She's got money this one has, look at 'er horse, that's a fine beast that is. Pierre! We should take 'er horse!"

"Where'd we sell a horse eh? See if she's got jewels!

"I bet she has gold!"

"Let's take 'er horse and 'er gold Pierre!"

"SHUT UP YOU LOT! I am in charge, I will decide the toll!" The boy named Pierre hollered. "So," He turned toward Christine. "What'll it be, yer nice horse? That trinket 'round yer pretty little neck? Whaddaya want to pay wit? 'Cause of course if you don't want to part with yer belongin's I'm sure we could work out a private deal between the two of us, eh Cherie?"

The way Pierre sneered out that last bit while raking his hungry eyes over her figure made Christine tremble in fright. Then with a deep breath she steeled her nerves. She was utterly alone; there was no angel, no fiancé to protect her. She would have to gather her wits and use them to get out of this mess because she was NOT going to allow this greasy, lecherous boy to touch her. But as Pierre and his gang of urchins closed in around her, driving her further back into the dead end of the ally Christine trembled, for though she knew she needed a plan, she had no idea what her plan was.

AN: SO? What did you think? More will come soon, though soon is of cource a relative term ;)


	3. Dark

AN: Thanks again to everyone who favorited, or added me to alert I appreciate it!

Thankyou to all my lovely reviewers:

Obscure Bird (thanks for all the input! I'm glad you liked the details in the first chapter. As for the accent, I was just trying to show their lower-class station, after this chapter it probably won't show up again. And as for the universe, It's mostly musical based, though some movie, or Leroux or Kay may slip in.)

debkay (hope you like how this goes)

APhan (I think you'll like how the escape goes, you were definitely on to something…) TarjaRocksMyWinterStorm (maybe….)

Chapter 2

Christine could feel herself shaking from fear. Her mind was seizing up, she had to think of a plan, some way to get herself out of this mess, but all that came to her were the lurid details of the stories the ballet rats told each other late at night. She was panicking, and she knew she didn't have time to. _Focus Christine, _she thought, _focus. _She cleared her head and tried to take stock of her situation as rationally as she could.

She was backed into an alley in a shady part of town. She was cornered by a dozen or so of the worst sort of ruffian imaginable. She was scarcely clothed. She was alone, and in her night dress, and surrounded by a group of unsavory youths who outnumbered her, who wanted to, who were going to… _No! I need to focus!_

Obviously she couldn't out power them, she may be able to dance for hours on end, but she didn't know the first thing about fighting, and they outnumbered her. So what did she have that she could use? She had a rather expensive chocker around her neck that Raoul had given her, could she bargain with that? But, no she thought, they could just take that anyway, I can't make deals about things they can just take. She had her, or rather _Raoul's_ horse, a lovely little mare named Blanche, who was very sweet natured with those she knew, but who had a penchant for kicking… suddenly Christine had an idea.

"Messieurs," Said Christine, as she unfastened the gold locket from around her neck, she'd never really liked it much anyway, "How do you like this for payment? C'est d'or."

"Look at that, Pierre, it is gold!"

"Let's grab it!"

"Shut up you lot!" snarled Pierre, "I'm in charge o' the goods." He turned his gaze back to Christine. "Now, see, Mam'selle, I can just take that perty little trinket off yer hands for you if I wan'. I don't think that'll do fer payment Chérie." Once again he raked up and down her body with his eyes, stepping closer as he did so that he was barely a foot away. Christine continued to dangle the necklace from her fingers, out of reach, but clearly in sight, and while Pierre clearly had other intentions, Christine could see the hungry way the eyes of the others followed the gold. Their leader may want her for himself, but his gang was more interested in something they could sell for some bread.

"Now, Chérie, we both know how this'll end, why don' yeh make it easier fer yerself an step down of the horse now? Come on, we'll have a bit o fun, eh?" He took another step closer; Christine could smell his rank breath. "Embrasse-moi Chérie."

In the next instant several things happened at once. Christine tossed the locket into the midst of the gang, Pierre took that last step that brought him too close, and Blanche reacted. As the rest of the ruffians wrestled each other for the necklace, Pierre received his kiss. Blanche savagely bit into the hand reaching toward Christine, then reared up and struck the youth squarely in the chest with her front hooves.

Holding on to fistfuls of white mane, Christine barely managed to stay on- and silently thanked Raoul for teaching her how to ride. Without a glance to see how Pierre fared, she urged Blanche forward, and the horse obliged, leaping into a jaunty trot, and then a canter as she raced out of that accursed alley. Christine glanced back, to see a wobbly looking Pierre cursing at his gang, who still seemed to be tussling over that necklace. Christine let out a shaky laugh, she was safe!

* * *

After several more hours riding around the winding Parisian streets (and NOT asking for directions) Christine found herself in a more familiar part of town. At last, after what seemed to be all night, she found herself on Rue Auber, staring at the charred remnants of what had been her home for most of her life.

Christine dismounted, and paused. What should she do with the horse? She owed her safety to the good little mare, but now that she was here she had no idea what to do with her. Underground did not seem like the best place for a horse, and besides, the mare was Raoul's, and he was her friend, even if she did not love him. Jilting him would be bad enough; Christine decided she'd rather not steal his horse too. With murmured thanks, she patted Blanche on the neck, and then slapped her rump. The horse took off at a trot, hopefully she'd make it home, and not fall into the wrong hands, but now she was no longer Christine's concern. She had to find her angel.

She carefully picked her way through the sooty ruins, until she came to what had once been a beautifully decorated dressing room, now the wallpaper hung in charred tatters, and a pervading smell of smoke hung in the air. But the gilded mirror was still where it had always been, though torn aside to reveal the passage behind it. Christine guessed the mob had done that the night of the fire. The night she'd left. _I'm coming angel._ And Christine took a deep breath and stepped into the tunnel and began to walk.

* * *

Christine stumbled blindly through the dark winding passageway. The walls and floor were damp, and the chilly air had a stale smell of mildew that she hadn't noticed before. Somehow her angel's dark presence had always seemed to brighten this dank tunnel. When her angel had taken her here, Christine remembered it as being eerily mysterious, dark but full of anticipation and wonder. Now the same tunnels were cold and slimy, and this place seemed deserted, empty dead.

She had put the thought out of mind, had tried to pretend it wasn't a possibility, because it couldn't possibly be possible, it simply couldn't! But now, as she tripped her way down through these tunnels into the belly of the opera Christine began to fear that maybe he _wasn't _here.

What if these tunnels were just as deserted as they appeared? What if, if, somehow her angel was…gone? Because if he was not in these tunnels, then that meant he was gone, somewhere else. But her angel _was_ here, he was, he simply had to be, she had come all this way to see him, to tell him… But if he wasn't, if her angel was not here then Christine did not know what she would do. How would she ever find him, one reclusive man in the whole wide world? There were so very many places for her angel to hide. Because he would hide – If not below the opera house then somewhere else.

Christine knew she was deluding herself, there was one glaring possibility that she was omitting because it was _not_ a possibility. Her angel was here. And if not he was simply somewhere else. There were no alternatives, Christine would not accept, could not accept the possibility that he might not be anywhere, the possibility that he might be d- NO! That was _not_ a possibility. Her angel had to be somewhere, there was no other way, a man like her angel could not just cease to be, it was inconceivable. He was here, he had to be, she told herself over and over, and Christine kept on walking through the damp blackness.

Her shoes clacked loudly on the damp stone, and in the silence, the sound of her footsteps, and of her breathing seemed deafening. Her heartbeat pounded out a staccato that echoed off the walls. The fabric of her night dress rustled. It all seemed so loud in the empty silence. _I'm making a racket _she thought_; the sound must carry all throughout these tunnels. Surely… surely he can hear me, he always knows when someone intrudes beneath the opera… he has to know I'm here so why hasn't he come?_

_Silly Christine_, she thought. _You expect the man to come the second you come down here. You haven't said a word to let him know who you are, to convince him to come out. That's it. He is here, and he'll come once I call out._

"Angel?" She whispered, her voice was tearful and feeble sounding and the word cracked on the second syllable. Inwardly Christine chided herself for her foolishness and cleared her throat. "Angel?" Her voice rang out loudly rebounding off the tunnel walls. "Angel where are you? It's me Christine. I came back Angel. I came back, it's me! Angel!" She waited for a response but none came. "Angel!" There was no answer. Desperately now, "ANGEL!" She sobbed, "PLEASE ANGEL WHERE ARE YOU!"

There was no answer. No sound or movement, no sign at all that anyone heard her, no indication that she had any company at all down here. Unable to support her weight any longer, her knees buckled and Christine sank to the ground. She knelt on the hard stone and felt the cold and the damp soaking her nightgown. Irrationally, it seemed as if the cold would sink into her very bones and it would she would always be cold and wet, and it would always be dark.

Dark and alone.

The dank catacombs were empty, dead. Suddenly the shadows seemed to swoop in on her and Christine felt as though the emptiness of the tunnel would suffocate her. She was so alone, she was the only thing that breathed, the only living creature down here in the bowels of the opera. Shouldn't there be rats she thought? Mice? Something? Why wasn't anything alive down here? Where was he!

So softly she could barely hear herself she whimpered, "Please, please Angel, where are you? Please come. You must come, or I'll never find you. Angel you have to be here, I do not know where else to search."

There was no response. The only sound was her own sobs as she buried her face in her hands and wept.

She had no idea how long she knelt there on the ground weeping. But at some point her tears dried up and she realized that her shoulders were no longer heaving with sobs, but instead she was shivering and shaking with cold. Christine brushed off her skirt and attempted to stand but she only managed to get halfway to a crouch before crumpling to the ground with a yelp. She clutched her calf in pain, it had cramped from being still for so long.

Slowly, carefully she stood up, wincing as she did so, and she turned around. Once she was facing what she believed was the way out she sighed and began to slowly walk back the way she came. If he hadn't come by now he was not going to. Her angel was gone, and she had nowhere to go, except away from here.

"Giving up already Madame De Chagney? Rather quick to change your mind aren't you? Not an hour ago I recall you were claiming to have returned. And now you wish to leave… aren't you indecisive." Never had a sneer sounded so musical.

Christine whirled around to face the owner of a very familiar voice.

AN: So…. What did you think? I'm a little unsure about the pacing, so please give me some feedback!


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